Dawn

No heart is an island (250 words)

They called him Sander, short for Cassander. Like his female namesake, no one believed him either.

Ensconced amidst his isolated sanctuary located on the desolate English moors, far away from the carnage that had raged all the major cities and villages across what was once referred to as “a green and pleasant land,” Sander wondered if it was possible to die from loneliness or regret.

If there was anyone left in England to bury him, he thought that his tombstone should read, “I told you so.”  Not that there would be anyone to read it or mourn for him, much less the billions that perished before.

He had stocked up food for five lifetimes, seeds to grow his own crops, should the need to keep himself occupied with a purpose moved him so, and all the gear to live on his own, if he had the desire to continue his existence as it presently was.  Sander even had some livestock for meat, fiber and plowing.

Chores kept his mind from fixating on the uselessness of sowing a field of barley for harvest next season or his daily animal husbandry duties, the animals needing him. He drank beer he brewed himself while contemplating if there truly was a Heaven, and if he would be denied entry for hastening his way there by his own hand.

One clear Winter morning, a figured approached from the East.

As she finally stumbled up to Sander, looking under-nourished and haggard, she introduced herself. “I’m Dawn.”